I entered a small, dark room and noticed an overhead cone of light that silhouetted a man. He was hunched over as he sat on a stool. He had long, white hair. His clothing was old and ragged. He didn’t seem to hear my footsteps as his gaze remained fixed upon something in front of him.
What was he looking at? His back and head blocked my view from seeing what he could see. With increasing curiosity I decided to walk closer so I could look past his frail body. As I approached the light, it slowly came into view . . . the most detailed . . . most exquisite painting I had ever seen. I reached the man and despite my obvious presence, he remained silent . . . remained still.
In total awe . . . feeling entirely captured by this painting, I stood motionless for a moment . . . until his weak and raspy voice broke the silence.
Beautiful, isn’t it?
Yes . . . yes I can’t believe how beautiful . . .
It’ll just wrap you up, ya’ know?
I smiled. Yes.
The old man continued, I’ve been sitting here for quite some time.
Really?
He turned his old, wrinkled face and looked into my eyes. Yes. I have been here for a very, very long time.
I nodded . . . as a sign of polite accpetance of this strange man’s statement. Yet . . . the man looked at me with such intense authenticity . . . His eyes seemed to water with sincerity and call out to my heart and mind. Somehow, I believed him . . . I believed that this man had been here . . . had been sitting here for an extremely long time.
He turned back to the painting and with a reverent voice said, I’ve been watching this painting . . . for many, many years . . . and now this is what I can see.
I looked again at the painting. The world, in great luminescent glory and most intricate detail sat in the middle . . . blue sea, white clouds, brown earth. Surrounding the earth I could see other planets, solar systems, and countless brilliant stars. Again I felt shocked by the endless reality of this celestial vista and for a moment, it seemed that I could be sucked in. I began to sense the infinite and miraculous nature of this painting.
Feeling deeply intrigued, and wanting to understand more, I question him. How was this painting made?
The man, looking again into my eyes, began to respond with complete honesty. I told you . . . I have been sitting here for a long time . . . watching this happen. Brushes, paint, and canvas . . . for billions of years have come together to produce this. It was a remarkable thing to behold.
I was confused. I’m sorry, but you mean to say that you have taken brushes and paint and have made this. . . that you are the artist?
No. No . . . I am only a spectator. I merely sit, observe, and study . . . and I will not, I must not interfere. You see, there is some kind of unseen energy in this room . . . and the painting was formed by this energy. It happens on it’s own . . . entirely by itself . . . Don’t you see? . . . I do not have enough skill to make such a masterpiece. The fact is that this painting has evolved and developed randomly . . . and I tell you . . . I have not taken part . . . I am not the artist!
With wide eyes I looked away, unable to accept these bizarre statements. I didn’t want to seem rude or ungracious to this apparently disoriented old man, so I quietly and slowly stepped away.
The man resumed his study of the painting. I stood back, at a distance, and began mulling over what had just happened. What is this energy that he speaks of? How can energy control a paint brush? Is it possible that such a stunning spectacle of art can be the result of random splashes of paint on a canvas . . . by some unseen force of energy?
Unconvinced and unresolved, I returned to the old man. With boldness I questioned him. You mean to tell me that an invisible source of energy is solely responsible for this painting. . . that energy took a paint brush, dipped it in paint, splashed it onto the canvas, and over billions of years the painting turned out like this? You took no part in the creation of this? Someone must have painted this!
No . . . NO . . . NOOO! The crazy old fool stood up from his seat. He began to twirl and dance and sing . . . On its own, on its own, it happened on its own! On its own, on its own . . . it happened on its own!
You can imagine the strange feeling that arose in me during this moment. I desperately wished to remove myself from this awkward and confusing situation. I instinctively backed away and left the old man to relish in his ignorant, blissful insanity.
~~~~
I have wrtten this story to clearly illustrate the ridiculous and foolish notion that our magnificent earth and solar system were formed by random collisions and reactions in space. In this story, how preposterous the old man seems to us. He represents pure science . . . science that excludes the possibility of intelligent design. He denies the most obvious, the most logical explanation: That an artist exists.
To reason that art, music, or any beautiful thing is the result of purely random acts is supremely counterintuitive and requires an excessively creative imagination. (Even abstract art is the result of a functioning, creative brain). The greatest of human minds create the greatest masterpieces and symphonies. Not a group of blubbering fools that throw paint on a wall or make random notes on a piece of staff paper. Pure science is a blubbering fool. It cannot stand. It will not stand.
Humans alone are weak. To think that our universe, which is billions of years older than the earth, has no greater beings, no greater minds, is absolutely and unquestionably absurd. The passive argument that humans are the most-evolved organisim throughout endless space is simply laughable. How can we hide behind such an arrogant and childish thought? Is it because we need to protect ourselves from a feeling of accountability that a belief in God requires? Or the feeling that our thoughts and actions might actually matter . . . that we need to be kind and live good lives because of a greater purpose?
Whatever the reason, I say with the strongest language possible, that intelligent design is not only realistic and rational . . . but that it actually happened. I agree with skeptics in that evolution is happening at this very moment, but why can’t we accept a divine Presence, a divine Creator, behind the obvious genius of evolution and cosmological organization?
Will you choose to align yourself with the old man and join his song and dance? Will you continue to defy the possibility that someone in our infinitely large and increasingly expanding universe is greater than you? A painter exists. He organized this earth, the sun, and the planets that surround us. He set them in motion. Such beauty, such genius, isn’t random. It cannot be. I invite you to believe in a Creator, a Father in Heaven that is loving and kind. If you do, I promise that you can experience a peace-of-mind, a deep sense of happiness. With this belief, you can begin to realize that your life has value, that it isn’t a random spot on a page that simply ends with death.